


Dead men can't give anything away

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, Torture, i dunno what im doing anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: Where did Malcolm go?
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	Dead men can't give anything away

**Author's Note:**

> More angst? In MY fics? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> I got in a real angsty mood the other day and wrote this. Bears some similarities to Here With You. Don't mind that. I just really love hurting Malcolm.
> 
> I think I should stop.
> 
> (This is labelled as Mature and I know some people would argue with that rating but honestly? This is probably the darkest shit I've ever written. I'm not comfortable just leaving it at Teen and up like that. So yeah.)

_ACT I_

He runs. His breathing is quick and his feet are beginning hurt. He doesn’t stop running. Can’t stop.

He dares a glance over his shoulder, just to check if they’re still following him. They are.

 _How are you getting out of this one?_ he asks himself.

He turns a corner, almost tripping over himself. There’s a young lady in the alleyway. He barely gives her a glance as he runs by.

Can’t stop.

There’s a wall ahead of him. For a moment, he panics, but he scales it with ease. The ones behind him are too slow. He gains a little distance.

Not much. Not enough.

He’s on the open streets now, but they are just as deserted as the backroads. There’s no one to help him. He’s in the worst part of town. Why is he here again?

That’s right: the mission.

A voice bellows behind him. He startles but doesn’t lift his gaze from the road in front of him, eyes his surroundings, looking for an exit. A way to escape. He’s starting to grow tired and he isn’t sure how much longer he can keep going.

He never was much of a runner.

His lungs beg for air. His eyes are beginning to water.

Can’t stop.

One of them comes darting out of an alleyway. He doesn’t know how they managed to catch up with him so fast. He doesn’t have time to wonder. Desperately, he tries to evade them but to no avail.

Strong arms grab him and throw him to the ground. He’s winded. He can’t breathe.

A foot on his chest. A voice in his ear.

_Can’t save you now._

He struggles. He twists and turns under their weight, but the pressure only gets worse until he can do little more but lie there, fighting the darkness. He hopes his crew will find him soon, but they aren’t supposed to be back for another few hours. He’ll be long gone by then.

They won’t be able to track him, he realizes. He’s lost his communicator somewhere.

But he still has his phase pistol.

That’s right. A smile creeps along his lips.

He does have a way out after all.

He moves slowly so as not to alert his captures. Carefully, he reaches towards the belt loop, fingers closing around the cool metal weapon.

One movement. That’s all it takes. One movement and he won’t have to worry. His crew won’t have to worry, either. Dead men can’t give anything away.

They catch him before he can raise the pistol to his head. With one swift kick, it’s sent flying from his grip. He watches in despair as it soars, the metal glinting in the sunlight before disappearing with one final wink.

They kick him in the side. With a groan, he curls in on himself.

They kick him again. They tell him he can’t get out of this. They tell him to give up.

But Lieutenant Malcolm Reed doesn’t give up.

_ACT II_

They ask him. Over and over again.

_Where is your ship? What are its weapons? What are you planning?_

He feeds them with lies at first.

_My ship is in spacedock. My ship is in the Delphic expanse. My ship was destroyed._

They attempt to verify his claims. When they don’t ring true, they dunk his head in a bucket of water.

He loses his cool the first time. He kicks; he screams; he cries. He doesn’t want to drown. _Dear, god, please don’t make me drown!_ They only laugh as he struggles. Then they kick him and lock him in his cell, his hands chained above his head so he can’t even sit down.

He keeps calm the second time. He doesn’t give them the satisfaction of watching him panic. After a few more sessions, they become bored. They try a different tactic.

_My ship is defenseless. My ship is indestructible._

They take knives to his skin. They pump him full of drugs to heighten the pain. At one point, he thinks he sees the crew coming to save him.

It’s just a hallucination, though. No one can save him.

He stops feeding them with lies. He just can’t trust himself not to slip up.

_We aren’t planning anything! Please, just leave me alone!_

How long has it been? A week? Two? Maybe a year, or perhaps just one very long day. Time doesn’t exist anymore.

His body wracks with sobs, shoulders heaving as he combats the chill in his cell. He can’t remember the last time he was given something to eat. His frame has become thin and fragile. He can barely stand on his own.

They stopped chaining him to the wall after his left arm dislocated.

_Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!_

His very existence has become clouded with pain. The life he once had is long forgotten.

He wants it to stop.

 _You can make it stop,_ they tell him. _You can stop the pain._

He wants so badly for it to stop. He’ll do anything. _Say_ anything.

He once thought he was incapable of betrayal.

But Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, just like any other human, has a breaking point.

_ACT III_

He looks out the window, at the passing stars, and sighs. It’s been two weeks and three days since they last heard from the tactical officer. Two weeks and three days since they dropped him on that planet, where he would be subject to an unknown fate.

He knows Captain Archer is drowning in guilt. To be honest, one part of him also blames the captain. The captain was the one who gave Malcolm the order. The captain was the one who answered that distress call. The captain was the one who lost those precious hours in which Malcolm was taken.

He throws the communicator up in the air and catches it. They found it on the planet in their initial search. The last trace of Malcolm.

They’re to depart in two days. He can’t fathom leaving a member of the crew – a _friend_ – behind. Alive or dead. They owe it to Malcolm. They owe so much to Malcolm.

His intercom chirps. He almost doesn’t answer; too lost in his own grief.

He forces himself to his feet and across the room.

When the words hit him, they feel like a dream. He must be imagining things. Any minute, he’ll wake up. He mustn’t let himself hope. Hope is a fleeting thing.

Hope is what gets his heart pumping, his feet moving, as he makes his way to launch bay two. Captain Archer is already there to meet him. They wear the identical question on their faces.

_Is it really him?_

He doesn’t remember the trip down to the surface. He preoccupies himself loading and unloading the battery from his phase pistol. A part of him hopes he’ll meet the bastards who did this to Malcolm. Revenge isn’t sounding like such a bad idea at the moment.

The captain lands them in the middle of a field. The frigid air pricks their lungs. They tuck their arms close to their bodies and wish they brought jackets.

He takes two careful steps forward. Another two. His heart stops.

Malcolm lies face down in the grass. Blood stains every inch of his uniform; his hair is long and matted and caked with red. He is much too thin to be healthy.

Archer leaps into action within seconds. Archer turns Malcolm over and feels for a pulse. Archer opens his communicator and yells into it, and before long, the transporter has brought Phlox down like an angel from the heavens.

He is barely aware of it.

He takes one unsteady step and collapses at Malcolm’s side.

_I am so, so sorry._

Trip Tucker holds his best friend in his arms and cries.

_ACT IV_

He’s dreaming. Trip watches as he dreams.

It’s been a week now. Malcolm fades in and out of lucidity. Sometimes it seems he’s just beginning to return to normal when something sets him off and he falls back into a trance.

Sometimes he’s quiet. Sometimes he mutters things that make Trip worried.

_No. Stop. Get away. Not that. Not that! No…_

Trip sits beside his bed and stares. Malcolm is so fragile now; his skin pale and sickly, only serving to highlight the worst of his wounds. Deep gashes cover his face and chest. He is so, so thin and Phlox has him on a million IVs just to keep him alive. He looks like he might break at the slightest touch.

He breathes shallowly and audibly. Trip can’t stand it sometimes. He has to leave the room just to calm down, to remind himself that Malcolm is alive and still hanging in there.

But for just how long?

He decides to tell Malcolm about all the things he missed while he was… gone. Whether it’s a distraction for himself or the broken man on the biobed, Trip doesn’t know. He tells Malcolm about how hard they worked to find him. He tells him about how Travis and Hoshi stayed up three nights in a row to look through scans. He talks and he cries and he hopes things will be alright when deep down he knows they never will be alright again.

He’s shocked to see Malcolm’s dull grey eyes staring up at him. Watching him. Listening to him.

“Malcolm?” Trip whispers. He leans forward and touches Malcolm’s arm.

And Malcolm flinches away.

“Malcolm,” Trip says again. He doesn’t bother to hide the catch in his voice. “Malcolm, look at me.”

“Can’t,” Malcolm chokes out. He tears his gaze away and screws his eyes shut. “Can’t. No-not happening.”

Trip’s heart breaks in two. “You’re safe,” he breathes. He reaches forward to touch Malcolm’s arm again. “We’ve got you back, Malcolm.”

“No,” Malcolm repeats. His eyes fly open; there’s an urgency behind him. “Can’t. Lea-leave me. Told them- I told them-”

Malcolm begins to flail and panic. The monitor above him beats. He draws in raspy, hiccupping breathes as if there were no more air around him.

Trip decides to risk it. He grasps Malcolm’s shoulders and holds him there until he stills. “Malcolm,” he says firmly, blinking back tears, “we’ve got you. _I’ve_ got you. You’re safe, do you understand?”

Malcolm swallows. “I told them- told them where Enterprise- system schematics- they’re going to…”

“No one cares,” Trip whispers. “Captain couldn’t care less, Malcolm. You’re not in any trouble.”

Grey eyes fill with tears. “But… I told them,” he whispers like a broken child. Trip can’t keep his tears at bay any longer.

He pulls Malcolm into a hug so tight it probably suffocates the dangerously thin man, but if Trip is afraid if he loosens his grip, he might lose Malcolm. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles into Malcolm’s hair. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

Malcolm’s fragile arms wrap around the engineer’s waist as he weeps brokenly, and – dangit – now Trip is crying too; crying as he holds Malcolm in his arms, never to let go again. 


End file.
